In Your Eyes
by NuttyRoyale
Summary: In which Craig channels John Cusack in order to win back someone's affections. [AC]


Author's Notes: this is the edited version. The original will appear on my website (linked in profile!) at a later date.

In this fic, I have included quotes from various movies, and they are, in order, _Sixteen Candles_, _The Princess Diaries_, _The Princess Bride_, _Say Anything_, and _Notting Hill_. I don't own those. Oh, and the reference to "Lloyd", a cue from _Say Anything_. Sigh, John Cusack…!

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He knows deep down that what he is about to do could either win her back, make him look like the biggest fool in the entire province, or get him arrested. He knows that it's horribly desperate and pathetic of him, but he doesn't care. He thought of doing it when he remembered that she likes romantic comedies. She tries to be serious, but she secretly loves romantic movies. He caught a glimpse of the inside cover of her history notebook, and various lines from songs and movies were scrawled on the inside. "What is this?" he asked one day, flipping to the cover. "'Make a wish.' 'Well, it already came true.' What _is_ this crap?"

She was turning pink with embarrassment. "Give me that!" she'd shouted, trying to retrive the notebook from his hands, without success. "It's a line from _Sixteen Candles_, if you must know. It's only one of the best movies ever."

He was grinning. "What else is in here? Oooh… 'Why me?' 'Because you saw me when I was invisible,'" he read, his voice in a ridiculous falsetto. "'As you wish.' What's that from? 'I gave her my heart, and she gave me a pen.' Don't know that one. Wait, wait, I have heard this one before… 'I'm just a girl, standing in front of a boy, asking him to love her.' That's from _Notting Hill_!"

"Craig!" she shrieked, finally grabbing the notebook. "Ugh. I can't believe you."

"I can't believe you _like_ those movies!"

"I'm a _girl_, remember?"

He laughed. "That's no excuse."

"It's a temporary reprive," she said. "The movies make you believe in love a little more. They make you believe that Jake Ryan's really going to be standing by his car waiting for you so he can give you a kiss over a birthday cake. They make you believe that the awkward girls can get the coolest guys. And that someone will adore you so much that they will stand outside your window with a boom box over their head, playing a great love song just for you."

He remembers those words as he parks in the driveway. It's early on a Sunday morning; so early the sun isn't out yet. It's six o'nine, and he has no time to waste. He turns the light on in the car, and finds the CD book. He flips through the weighted pages until he finds the exact mix that he's looking for. Perfect.

He gets out the driver's seat and pulls out the portable stereo. The stereo in the car would've been good, but he wants this to be as authentic as possible. He pops open the top lid and pushes the disc in, and flicks on the power. The familiar hum of the CD warming up mixes with the sound of crickets chirping in the early morning. He cranks the volume up to the highest level, and, taking one last breath, presses play.

He had two songs in mind for this. One was _the_ song, the other was a more recent hit that he thought could also work. But he is trying to be as authentic as possible, so he skips immediately to track two, and presses pause. He's heard the song before, hasn't everyone? It's a love song for the ages, especially because it's equated with that scene from the movie. He hopes that she'd read that note he'd slipped into her mailbox on Friday: _Come to your window at six-fifteen on Sunday._ He had, of course, typed and printed the note on his computer; she would've recognized the handwriting.

He waits. It's six fourteen according to his watch, and he looks up at the window, wondering if she's going to show. If not, he doesn't know what he'll do. If her mom shows up, he'll flee. If not… he still has no plan. He was lucky that he got the balls to actually show up anyway.

_Wait!_ There's movement. He sees the curtains part, and excitement fills him. _This is it._ He presses play, and stands by the car. The opening music plays—no, _blares_—in the silence of the neighborhood. He holds the boom box in front of him, then, as she finally pushes apart and appears in the window, bleary-eyed and brown bob a mess, he shakily holds it over his heads. And, in spite of himself, he begins mouthing the words:

_Lyrics used to be here._

She is rubbing her eyes, and he sees a half-smile appear on her face. He wonders what she is thinking at that moment. _Is this good enough?_ he wonders.

_Lyrics used to be here._

She opens the window. "You're going to get arrested!" she stage-whispers to him in the darkness. "I'll be down there in a minute!"

He feels like laughing, shouting, or collapsing; preferably all at once. He turns the volume down, and he sits the boom box back on the hood of the car. Minutes later, she comes out the door, her hair brushed and wearing a fuzzy purple bathrobe and matching slippers. She still looks a little sleepy, but she is also smiling, and… are those tears in her eyes?

"Well?" he asks. "Am I forgiven now?"

She wraps her arms around him and places her forehead on his shoulder. He likes how this feels, and he almost doesn't want an answer from her. "Yes, Lloyd," she says softly. "You're forgiven."


End file.
